


Walking and Seeing

by TerribliyUncreative



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst and Humor, AngstFili, AngstKili, Cultural Differences, Culture Shock, Don't Judge Me, F/M, Gen, M/M, Scars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 10:19:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3566054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerribliyUncreative/pseuds/TerribliyUncreative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after BOTFA, Fili is expected to take a wife.<br/>He meets said future-wife.<br/>Both of them are extremely unhappy with their parents' decision.<br/>Will they go through it?<br/>They think not.<br/>While in distance Kili and his new friend plan romance that probably won't go too well.<br/>So here is the story of an awkward journey where two dwarrowdams find friendships stronger Chuck Norris (even though Chuck Norris does not exist in this universe) and maybe the beginning of love. The latter with much confusion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walking and Seeing

**Author's Note:**

> I changed the first chapter on you my dear readers! For that I am sorry for you've given me lovely comments and kudos. However, I felt like I needed to change it. SOOOO here is the new and improved first chapter. I hope you enjoy. I apologize again.
> 
> Also!!!!!  
> I'm using a bit of the Swedish language, so bare with me on the translations!  
> It also switches between POVs I hope it isn't confusing  
> Enjoy and comment below! I love comments! Or leave kudos! Kudos are nice too!

\--- Jalaa's Point of View

Outside the kingdom of the newly rebuilt Dale, two dwarrowdams set down for camp across the black-watered lake. People claimed the waters cursed since the faithful day Smaug the Terrible was felled from the sky and into its waters.  
The waters were black as smoke, no fish swam and crickets never chirped. The grass bordering the lakes sands were dry and yellow. Nothing thrived and birds sang. 

Jalaa, the raven-haired dwarrowdam, thought it the worse idea to set camp there out in the open, instead of turning to Dale for an inn.   
Why waste money they did not have, the blonde half-dwarrow retorted. 

“You being having coins for to going inn?” Naava asked, her knowing eyes pointedly starred at the empty purse hanging from Jalaa’s belt.

So with decision decided, Jalaa, the elder of the two, set about clearing rocks away for her to put down her bedroll.   
While Naava, the smaller of the two, started a fire. The tiny blonde moved to pull out the last roll of stale bread and a small block of cheese. Perhaps there were berries they could eat from that bush over there along the edge of the Greenwood.

“Is that all we have to eat?” Jalaa called across their small camp. That would not be enough to fill them both.  
The blonde half-dwarrow tilted her head and blinked at the raven-haired beardling. The weaver opened her mouth to say something. She paused. Three long moments passed before the weaver sighed with a drop of her head. She stood up to search for berries. 

Two years had passed since Naava, daughter of Uma, had become a permanent fixture in Jalaa’s life. Yet even with a year-long trek behind them, the Princess found that she had still not gotten used to the Weaver.   
And thought Jalaa knew herself to be excellent company, Naava had not grown especially fond of her. 

At a young age, Jalaa had known that her parents’ marriage had been on of politics.   
There was no love between them to be had.  
Siring children onto his wife was a king’s duty; a chore and a necessity but not something the King liked to do.  
So the concept of her father taking other women to bed had never been foreign.

Some would last longer than others. Of course, they all left after some time. For none had ever ensnared the king’s heart. And thought everyone knew the King and Queen did not love each other; they would often say that his heart was the Queen’s to own.  
That was until Uma of Zargos, a strange woman from the Grasslands, came along. She had a beardless face, dark complexion and spoke broken Common; all which had charmed her father. Months has passed when it became clear that her father would have no other besides her. It was now, not the Queen. but Uma who held her father’s heart.  
Then Uma became heavy with child. 

‘A girl,’ Uma had gushed , her cheeks darkening with her blush. They were tucked away in the concubine’s room, sprawled on cushions near the fireplace. Her father had put his jeweled hand on the Zargosi’s stomach and beamed a bright smile. 

Jalaa had saw that night, how deep her father’s love ran for the foreigner for her let her keep it.   
In allowing the Zargosi woman to keep their child it had shown that her father loved Uma best of all. For no concubine he had laid with was ever allowed to keep a child made from their nightly unions. 

It had been a slight on her mother’s person that Jalaa could never forgive. At the tender age of seven she had been fierce in her loyalty towards her mother. 

Now there was her father’s bastard sitting across the fire. Her mouth was set in a straight line and her knees hugged to her stomach. Her form suggested a chill from the night’s winds.  
If it were not for Naava’s eyes, Jalaa would have been none the wiser. For even on her better days, Naava remained indifferent in expression.  
Yet those eyes, her eyes, looked as if the world itself was ending and there was naught she could do to stop it 

“Do you miss her?” The raven-haired dwarrowdam inquired as she squirmed off her bedroll. Jalaa neared the fallen log that her half-sister sat on. She was unsure what made her ask that. Uma was a sore subject and a large reason that the two never got along. 

—- Naava's Point of View

The blonde felt her throat clench and tears burned at the back of her eyes. A dizzy panic swept over her as her hands became slick with sweat. Her heart threw itself hard against her chest as her vision spotted. 

Naava, daughter of Uma, wanted nothing more than to press her heels into her pony’s soft middle and ride. Race back to The Red Mountains as she left the bearded Dwarf Princess behind to mope over the last part of bread they had.   
She would barge into her mother’s rooms and hide her face in her skirts like a child of thirty.. And happy upon her return, her mother would weave a carpet as Naava sat at her feet and listened to stories from their lands.   
There would be no spoiled Princesses. There would be no dower-faced Queens. Nor would there be Fathers that she did not understand.   
There would be only Naava and her mother.   
Life would be simple.

The blonde took a breath, full and deep.  
Ett.Två. Tre. Frya.   
Breathe out. Ett. Två. Tre. Frya. Fem. Sex. Sju. åtta.  
She pressed her hand against her chest and tried to press down the dread flooding through her.   
Ett. Två. Tre. Fyra. Fem. Sex. Sju.

Naava had a job to do; a duty to carry out. The gods of old and new damn her if she did not follow through on her word. A Zargosi was nothing without their word.  
Her sire had charged her with the protection and guardianship of Princess Jalaa. Princess Jalaa was the second daughter of King Kustaa and Queen Paloo. Naava was to watch over Jalaa in her courtship and engagement to Fili, Crown Prince of Erebor, Durin’s Lion-heart.

What would the royals of The Lone Mountain think once they saw their queen-to-be?  
The dark-haired beardling had only two ponies with a pack on each saddle and a Zargosi weaver as her protector. 

This was nothing like her law-sister, the king of her village. She had guards piled around her, ready to fall on sword if only to make her happy.

Did Dwarves think nothing of their female royals?  
Yet guards filled the kingdom of Noarid ready to protect their Queen. Why not her daughter? Perhaps Dwarven women were so strong that they did not need guards on journeys such as this?  
Or did they just not care what happened to a second-born when they had a third-born as a replacement?

Questions like this made her concerned.

She rubbed her thumb against the stone in her pocket. A ‘worry stone’, her mother called it. ‘To keep your mind light and heart wide.’ It was smooth, the color of rust and as small as her thumb. What made holdingg the stone bearable was the fact that it had once been her mother’s.

When her mother passed, would Naava have to return the stone? If she did, would they put it in a Dwarven tomb to be overrun with vines? Or would they light her boat to the Lost Isle like the Zargosi in her deserved? If so, would Naava place it in her hands? Would her father take it as a keepsake? Or would it be ever in her pocket, her mother’s memory weighing down her left side?

At unkempt sadness washed over her and she gripped the rock tighter. Why had she said yes to this journey when her mother laid dying? 

“Do you miss her?” The Princess’ voice called and she heard footsteps coming towards her. She snorted. 

“Dwarves not in the missing of their mothers? Or just Princess?” Naava asked, letting a leg go to stretch out the stiffness. Her tongue stumbled over the Westron in a soft awkwardness. Despite a year’s worth of lessons from her half-sister, Naava knew that she had not fully grasped the Common language. Her words came out missing, garbled or pitched.  
Just when she thought she had a sentence put together proper it would break like waves upon a boulder.

Westron, as wellas Khudzul were mere barks and grunts to Naava.  
Yet if Dwarven Law gave Naava choice of which to learn, she would have picked Khudzul.   
In an odd way, it sounded like the bastard cousin of her language.

—- Jalaa's Point of View

“You are right. Just Princess.” Try as she might, Jalaa could never muster the same amount of affection for her mother as Naava had for hers.  
It was because of her mother that she was in this situation in the first place; engaged to some beggar prince from The Lonely Mountain.

The idea of someone choosing a mate for her was maddening. Jalaa had thought, with her own father’s experience of arranged marriage that she would have the choice to decide. That was not the case, of course.  
Much like her mother picked her gowns, she picked Jalaa’s future husband’ Prince Fili, Crown Prince of Erebor.

Not that Jalaa knew any of this two years ago when her beloved, Taos had asked for her hand. He was one of her father’s company, a knight who protected him and gave honest council, despite being so young. They had been a most excellent match, second only to her father and Uma, in the fierceness of lovers.  
She had been so sure that her parents would say yes. He wasn’t a noble but he was a honest and courageous Dwarf. It had broken her to find out how wrong her idea had been.  
The Queen had denied Taos; most embarrassingly in front of the court.  
A week later, they executed him.

When her father had reported that Thorin had secured Erebor and that Fili had fought valiantly against the Orcs, Jalaa could barely contain her happiness. But then he continued on with saying, that while the prince was a bit broken, he would live. Not only would she marry a Crown Prince but a war hero! The celebration amongst her parents was a joyous one. 

Yet part of her could not bare the idea of marrying someone who was not Taos. The words, he had uttered in that cell, still chilled her, even during the summer evenings.   
Why had Taos been the one to die and Fili be the one to live?  
Fili had not spent noontime in the library asking her what she liked to read best (which were love poems). And he had not, in an attempt to court her, proceeded to wax poetry so horrible, she could not look at the book of poems without wincing.   
Fili had not spent months at the forge, perfecting her courting bead.   
Fili did not have a long, majestic beard tipped with green dye. Nor hadshe showered Fili with gold rings for the beard hair. Nor had Fili glinted in the firelight on nights they had spent together.  
Fili had not spent every Durin’s day at her fifth dance partner. Nor had Fili been there to save her from an Orc’s arrow.  
Fili had done none of these precious things. Yet he would be the one to marry her.   
“I worrying.” A voice whispered, breaking Jalaa out of her thoughts.  
“For?”  
“My mother. This longest I being from her.”  
“Father will take care of her in your absence.” She heard flinched at the unimpressed look her half-sibling shot her. The raven-haired beardling cleared her throat. “He will have the best healers of Middle Earth come. She will get better. I am sure of it.”  
“This not being cold. Soup and rest not being cure.”  
“Your mother is like the sun. No clouds can block out her radiance.”  
“Sun set.”  
“Only to rise again after night has gone.”  
“You speaking prettying words.”  
“Thank you.”  
“Prettying words not having truth.” Naava replied with closed eyes and ran a tan hand along a large plait of blonde hair. She looked as if she was trying to remember something but could not recall it.   
There was something about the softness of her face in the firelight that had Jalaa mesmerized as well as unnerved.   
She looked familiar and not as she continued to pet her braid.

In that moment, Naava looked like her mother.

It was not a hard thing to do, for Naava had her mother’s coloring and hair. She even had a beardless face as her mother had. It would be easy to mistake one for the other with her eyes closed like they were. 

Her eyes often betrayed their likenesses. For her eyes were their father’s — two blinking silver coins that peaked out from under blonde lashes. Those eyes, Jalaa noted, were a trait that none of his legitimate children possessed.  
It made her something out of myth.

“You exc-exc…” Naava struggled with the word and keened before giving up and shaking her head. “You happy, yes?”

“Why would I be happy?”

“You are in the meeting of man-promised on morrow.” Naava did not know enough words in the Common tongue. She substituted words she did not know with words she did. Sometimes it was a bit confusing. Yet Naava spoke so rarely that Jalaa craved for the conversation, no matter how hard it was to understand.

“You mean my betrothed?”  
“Yes, man-promised.”  
“Say it with me: Beh-trowth-ed/“  
“Beh-trooth-e’d. You being happy?”  
“Happy wouldn’t be the right word for it.”  
“Thought all girls in wishing for knight in sh-i-ning metal come sweeping off of feet.” “A knight in shining armor has never had his metal tested.”  
“He been in the seeing of battle.”  
“Ah yes. The Battle of Five Armies.”  
“Orcs nothing for scoffing at.”  
“It is not the Orcs that I scoff at.”  
“Why are you in making angry?”  
“I am not in ‘making angry’. I don’t get why I should be happy to marry a stranger.”  
“I not in saying those words. Do not be twisting to fitting of what fitting you!”  
“No, you’re saying that I should just be happy because he fought Orcs and is a Crown Prince. I should be happy to leave my own home to marry a man I know nothing about! He could have a hump!”  
“They letting warriors fighting with hump?”  
“He could have a missing arm.”   
“That might being truth.”  
“He could be a mean and cruel person and I am to marry him, simply because my family told me to!”  
“So Dwarves get no saying in marrying?” Naava asked, handing her a large chunk of bread. Something in her tone suggested an undisguised pity pitching itself into their conversation. “Or just Royals?”  
“Just Royals..”  
“That being strange. Dwarves being freaky-odd in that way.”  
“What do you mean?” Jalaa did not understand how Naava would have nerve to call Dwarves ‘freaky-odd’. The Zaegosi half-breed was strange herself.  
The Zargosi way of thanking a person, always managed to fluster her.

Naava said ‘thank you’ by pressing hands or anything one worked with, against her forehead and squeezing twice. Then she would spout some flowery nonsense; like “May your hands never aching,” or “May your feet never tiring.”   
Just that morning, she had read the map and pointed in the direction of Dale. Then Naava had pressed her head to Jalaa’s and said, “May your eyes always being clear.” Jalaa could not look in Naava’s direction till mid-day.”

“In Zargos, we marrying because we wanting to. Fathers and Mothers have no saying in who.”  
“Why is that?”  
“Every peoples know Mothers and Fathers loving children so much that need to protecting so heavy. They would picking person who is much liking themselves. Mothers and Fathers are not making good promised.”  
“So what if your King wanted to marry a peasant or a foreigner?”  
“Well the King, she —“  
“She?”  
“Is a woman in powering so dee-fee-cull to seeing for Dwarves?”  
“N-No..just… Why not call her Queen?”  
“Neighboring Men not taking us serious if leading by Queen. Woman in powering too much for tiny minds. So we saying King. You should seeing faces when they seeing King! Looking like gasping fishes!”  
“So, your King..? She married a peasant?”  
“Mmm. Yes. Now King is law-sister.”  
“So the …king… married your brother?”  
“I having no brah-thers! My sister, Chuiya, winning the King’s heart. King marrying her before I going to Red Mountains. It was beautiful. I was sobbing from happy!”  
“So the King, married your sister. But they’re women! Two women! How is it possible!?”  
“In Zargos, we in marrying who we want marrying. Our heart pickings.”  
“So the the people were okay with this?”  
“Why, of course! is not being so for Dwarves? Or just Royals?”  
“We don’t have many women amongst Dwarves or children. Peasants are allowed to be with whomever they choose, I suppose. But nobility have to marry to strengthen bonds between lands, most times.”  
“Huh! You thinking being other ways since you having so much gold! Dwarves doing digging with the wrong footing.”  
What did gold have to do with marriage? Perhaps they exchanged it for marriage, a dowry of sorts? Jalaa wished to ask but the sun had already set. Maybe she could ask on their way through Dale.

“Mother telling me that love coming with time.”  
“Our father had said the same thing.”  
“Where you thinking she learning from? Now eat. I being saving berries for snacking on way to Lone Mountain.”  
“What about you?”   
“I taking cornering of cheese. Berry juice helping some. I lasting till morrow. Now eating. Then sleeping. Must resting. Long riding ahead.”

How Jalaa wished she could prolong their journey so that there was no end.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll try to make the chapter longer next time!  
> Hope you enjoyed!  
> Leave some encouragement!
> 
> This fic is really because I can't choose between Fili or Kili.


End file.
